


this world's much too cold to sleep alone

by thejollypirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, CS Secret Santa 2016, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 19:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9006112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejollypirate/pseuds/thejollypirate
Summary: killian dislikes the holidays after it brought death to his doorstep, but emma is no where near giving up on him not celebrating with family.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for [tuxedobirds](http://tuxedobirds.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

“Come on, Jones. You can spend Christmas with me and my family,” she says.

 

Emma Swan sounds exasperated. To be fair, she’s said the same thing at least three times in the last ten minutes.

 

“My apologies, love, but I think I’ve contracted scurvy,” he states, picking at the fabric of his shirt. “Best I don’t come back until I’ve gotten enough Vitamin C to cure myself.”

 

“Is scurvy even contagious?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“It’s a vitamin deficiency, not a disease.”

 

He huffs, tilting his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes. “Bloody hell woman, I’m not coming home this year.”

 

He’s not even sure if Storybrooke  _is_  home. He feels lost more often than not, and though he may be in the Navy because of Liam...he’s not certain.

 

Liam died in the Navy not long ago, just two years prior to him joining. It’s been...a long process. There’s a lot, too much for his liking, to handle over funerals, property, money, and etc. Being on a ship or in the middle of the sea doesn’t quite feel like the home he thought it would feel like, but some part of Liam still clings to his heart, he supposes.

 

“You know Liam —”

 

Killian purses his lips. “You know better not to mention him.”

 

“Killian —”

 

“Emma —”

 

“Nothing changes the fact he’s gone.”

 

With a sigh, he turns in bed, staring at the wall. “I know, but I don’t like the holidays, Swan. You get me. Besides, I might not even get to come home.”

 

“Yeah, but now that I’ve had time to spend with my parents these years of reconnecting...” He can almost see her shrug. “I don’t mind it so much now. Save for the gross PDA. You should come home.”

 

Killian chuckles lowly, smiling to himself. “Maybe another year, love. When I don’t have  _scurvy_.”

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Emma mutters.

 

He grins, imagining her rolling her eyes at him. “And yet you decided to befriend said idiot all those years ago.”

 

He wonders if she’s disappointed.

 

&&.

 

It’s only another year later when the same conversation ensues. Except he’s returned, back to Storybrooke, but he still can’t be forced into going to a holiday weekend of celebration with her and her parents. It’s just too much to handle for too long. He can hardly stomach the attention of both her parents when David always gives him a stern look and Mary Margaret is more optimistic than he could possibly be.

 

Being in the Navy has taught him many things, and though he likes to stay hopeful, it’s hard to maintain that when he remembers the death of his brother. Bringing death to his doorstep.

 

“Seriously? You’re back in town and you won’t come celebrate Christmas with us?”

 

He grunts, turning his head to look at her. “I’ll have you know we got attacked by  _pirates_ , Swan,  _pirates_! I need recovery time.”

 

She sighs loudly, punching him in the arm. “You should seriously consider it.”

 

He winces, pouting childishly at her. “That hurt.” He may just be trying to avoid the topic entirely now, but Emma’s a master at that type of stuff and she seems to pick up on it easily.

 

“You have to move on eventually, Killian.”

 

He knows that, but right now, moving on isn’t going to happen.

 

&&.

 

He leaves town the night after Christmas, not daring to run into Emma and her sympathetic eyes.

 

&&.

 

It’s become tradition by this point that every time Emma Swan invites him to spend time with her oh, so charming family, he comes up with a ridiculous excuse in order to get out of it.

 

Killian is fairly decided when it comes to this. Christmas isn’t his favourite holiday. Far from it. He dreads it. He doesn’t like the music and the gatherings, he doesn’t like the presents and the blinding lights on everybody’s houses. The moment the holidays arrive, they become a stark reminder of the dark days of losing Liam and never having him around to celebrate such a thing anymore. Christmas is about miracles, but that night in particular, it brought misery, grief, and the worst amount of pain ever to him.

 

Emma Swan just doesn’t accept that. She’s adamant to bring him around to liking the holidays again.

 

Two years ago she’d told him to bring his pathetic arse home to celebrate Christmas with her, however he came up with that dumb excuse of contracting scurvy. The last year he’d told her he’d been attacked by pirates and needed time to recover. This year, he’s ready again.

 

“Look, darling, the lights on the Christmas tree always blinds me when I’m knackered, so thanks, but no thanks,” Killian tells her, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of him, staring at the horizon.

 

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

 

Perhaps he is.

 

&&.

 

It’s the fourth year now and he’s just as ready as ever — he’s even returned earlier than usual. The Navy granted him this once again, even if he doesn’t plan to spend much time doing anything.

 

Like usual, he stares out at the horizon, the chilly breeze causing his cheeks to turn a soft shade of red. “We used a magic bean and travelled to another realm. Now I’m all jet-lagged.”

 

It’s the dumbest excuse he’s come up with in forever and he knows it’s never convincing. He wonders why she even takes this utter shiteload of excuses she throws at him.

 

“Damn it, Killian!”

 

He’s thrown back by her anger. “Swan, I -”

 

“Look, I get it. You lost Liam on Christmas, but that doesn’t mean you’ll never celebrate it again. Just...come by for the week. You can spend it in the guest room at my parents’ place — I’ll be there, too. We can get drunk together and sing Christmas carols if you want. Please? And if you don’t enjoy it, then...I won’t push you next year.”                        

 

With a defeated sigh, he closes his eyes. “Fine,” he finally concedes. “I’ll do it.”

 

There’s no guarantee that he’ll enjoy it at all, but he’s made enough excuses, skipped out over three years of Christmas with his Swan - his best friend and admittedly his crush of long-term - which is unacceptable, regardless of his dislike for the holidays. Perhaps he owes it to her.

 

(He does owe it to her.)

 

“Finally,” Emma breathes out, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Took you long enough. Did you have more excuses planned?”

 

“No,” he admits, “not quite. Otherwise I would have used them against you.”

 

She sighs. “Hey,” she murmurs. He notices her fumble with her hands a little bit. “I  _promise_  if things don’t work, then I won’t try to force you into anything next year, or the year after. But...I...” Emma clears her throat and leans back against the bench. “My parents miss you.”

 

He smiles briefly, wondering where her train of thought would have went before saying her parents missed him. “Sure your father won’t be trying to punch me?”

 

Emma merely grins. “No guarantees.”

 

&&.

 

He remembers the first time they spent Christmas together, drinking and getting themselves wasted. She didn’t want to spend the holidays with her parents, her  _biological_  parents, so she ditched and went to find him. Granted, this was the first year she was spending the holidays with them.

 

He remembers quite vividly, actually, shivering in the cold and staring at the night sky, beneath the stars, dreaming of the lives they could have had if they didn’t live through their pitiful pasts. Their stories are sad stories, the ones that seem fictional — written for the books and movies. He remembers curling his arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple, comforting her while she explained how it wasn’t for her: the jolly mood of the winter holidays.

 

Now the roles are reversed. Emma thoroughly enjoys Christmas while he...well  _hate_  is a strong word, but it’s pretty up there with how he feels.

 

She has the family and friends. He’s not as fortunate. At least he has Emma and her parents.

 

Killian rubs his forehead, staring up at the ceiling. He just temporarily moved into the Nolan’s house like Emma told him to, and he can as least say it’s not too bad. It’s definitely different, though. He’s used to sleeping in Granny’s when the woman gives him a free week in a room. He’s sleeping across the hall from Emma, and frankly, he wants to go get into bed with her.

 

Except they’re not dating. They’re just friends, and friends...they don’t exactly  _cuddle_  in bed in the middle of the night with parents in the same house.

 

David glared at him when he first opened at the door, and Mary Margaret greeted him with a big smile and a hug.

 

Turning onto his side, he grimaces at the squeaking of the bed and then stares at the clock on the wall. Killian isn’t sure if he’s at the stage of regretting this, or if he’s warming up to it.

 

It’s only a Monday night. Christmas is on Sunday and he still has five days until then.

 

&&.

 

Morning comes fast, or it’s just because he’d gotten very little sleep. Inhaling a deep breath, he lets it out slowly before flipping the covers off of himself, making the bed — bloody habit of his — and getting dressed. He pulls on a navy blue sweater and sweats before padding out of his room, sighing when the door makes a bit of a squeak as well.

 

There’s already shuffling around the house, hushed whispers. As he walks by, he backtracks out toward the window, taking note of the snowfall that’s littered all over the streets.

 

“Morning, Killian!”

 

He turns his head and smiles at Emma’s mother. “Good morning, milady,” he greets with a curt nod. He’s gotten Mary Margaret to blush, which he figures is a successful feat.

 

“Morning, honey,” David says.

 

He raises an eyebrow. “Mo —”

 

Killian hears the footsteps behind him. “Morning, Dad.”

 

He rolls his eyes. Of course David’s greeting his daughter instead of the boy that his daughter invited into the house.

 

“Hey, it’s snowing,” Emma states. “Driveway needs to be shovelled?”

 

Her father nods. “Yeah, we do. I have to head out for some groceries and you need to get to the station, so there’s no way I’m driving the truck out of that. And your bug will hardly power through —”

 

“Hey!”

 

“I suppose I can help,” Killian chimes quickly in with a shrug. “That is, if you’re not opposed —”

 

“We can do it,” Emma interjects with a nod. “You two can enjoy your morning.”

 

“Alright, you two should eat breakfast before you go out,” Mary Margaret says, nodding at the plates of food on the counter. “I just made some pancakes.”

 

“Thank you, Ms. Nolan.”

 

“Killian, stop calling me that,” she huffs. “You can just call me Mary Margaret. We’ve known each other for years, there’s no need for formalities.”

 

He blushes a tad bit, feeling the heat rise to the tip of his ears. “Right Ms. N — I mean Mary Margaret.”

 

Emma snorts behind him and he glares behind his shoulder at her, but her smile and laugh is just enough to make up the fact that she’s making fun of him.

 

&&.

 

The temperatures have dropped a bit. He exhales a heavy breath as he sticks the shovel into the pile of snow, leaning on the handle and watching the way the air freezes whenever he breathes.

 

“Almost done,” Emma mutters, nudging him.

 

He grunts slightly, leaning over the shovel a bit before regaining his balance. “Getting tired, Swan?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Raising his eyebrow, he tugs at the beanie over his head, adjusting it. “You’ve never been in infallible liar.”

 

Emma nearly whacks him with her shovel when she turns around and he steps back and away from the tool. “And you’re not tired?”

 

“Inevitably tired from the lack of sleep in a squeaky bed and jet-lag from returning earlier the other day, but other than that, not so much when it comes to the shovelling part.”

 

She huffs adorably, letting the shovel fall into the pile of packing snow and bending down to pick some snow up. It’s only a matter of seconds before he realizes she’s planning to throw the snowball at  _him_  and he throws the shovel aside and goes to hide.

 

“Come back here, Jones!”

 

He grins. “Over my dead body, love!” he shouts back, picking up some snow and forming it into a ball.

 

(They’re grown-ups, totally. He’s twenty-seven and she’s twenty-six to be precise.)

 

After a few more seconds, he comes out from his hiding spot behind the tree, planning to throw the snowball at her, but he gets hit smack dab in the face and he groans, completely wasting his shot.

 

“Bloody hell,” he spits, wiping the snow off his face. If his face wasn’t already cold enough from the chill, it’s certainly numbing now. “Couldn’t have tried to hit me elsewhere?”

 

She laughs. “Nope, it’s just unfortunate for you since your face is such a clear target.”

 

“Too dashing to ignore, eh?”

 

Clearing her throat, she nods toward the house, avoiding eye contact. “We should get back inside.”

 

He scratches behind his ear and then nods silently, following Emma back into the house where the warmth hits him, making him feel the chill of the cold in his bones all over again now that he’s aware more.

 

&&.

 

He sleeps better this night, the memory of Emma’s smile and lightheartedness during their snowball fight moment still stuck in his head.

 

She’s beautiful when she’s so happy that all he endeavours to do is make her happy. Now he once again wonders about how he’s left her disappointed when he continued to deny her invitation.

 

Bloody fool he is.

 

Killian hardly gets to see her as it is and the one time he can spend the week with her, he says no?

 

Bloody fool, indeed.

 

&&.

 

This time, he’s not so fortunate. Emma goes out early with her father for work duties and he’s stuck in the house with Mary Margaret who’s planning on baking some cookies for the Christmas spirit. And of course he’s roped right into it.

 

“Could you measure one cup of flour for me?” she asks.

 

He nods, grabbing the measuring cup and then going to scoop flour into the cup.

 

“So, Killian, are you enjoying the week so far?”

 

It was only a matter of time until he was going to be asked that question, but he can answer honestly. “Aye,” Killian admits as he flattens the flour out. “I am, truly. I apologize for the many times I’ve said no to coming.”

 

Mary Margaret smiles at him when he brings the cup over to the counter. “It’s alright. We all know you’ve been through a lot. How’s work with the Navy?”

 

He hums a little, going to wash his hands since he got some flour on said hands. “Quite honestly? I’m not sure anymore.”

 

“You don’t like the Navy anymore?” Mary Margaret enquires with a tilt of her head. She’s always had that motherly look — he couldn’t help but notice the grays budding in her hair and the wrinkles that were on their way to forming, but she still looks just as young and healthy as before . “That’s a new one.”

 

Chuckling, he nods. “I’m aware.”

 

“Lost interest?”

 

“I joined the Navy in order to continue Liam’s legacy, to get away from the town where everything reminded me of him,” he explains as Mary Margaret points to him to grab some other ingredients for her. “But now I don’t feel so much of a connection. It’s still there, but I don’t know if I can keep up with it now that I’ve seen...now that Emma has told me I need to accept it.”

 

He bites on his lower lip gently and then runs his tongue between his teeth, wondering if the Navy is really worth all the effort — worth all the time he spends away from this group of people which he can call his family.

 

“Well, you take your time deciding what’s best for you.”

 

“Thank you, Mary Margaret,” he murmurs with a small smile at the woman.

 

He wonders if the entirety of this week will change his mind.

 

&&.

 

The cookies have been put into the oven and he’s just washing his hands up and cleaning the counters off from all the residual flour, sugar, and salt, before he hears the front door open. It’s not late out yet, so he wonders if it’s Emma returning.

 

He glances over at the corridor, seeing Emma pop in through the walkway, her cheeks and the tip of her nose flushed red, white specks of snow littered over the grey beanie she wears.

 

“Hello, love,” he greets. “Back so early from your Deputy duties?”

 

Emma nods at him. “Hi, Killian,” she breathes out. “Damn it’s cold outside...but yeah, Dad said he’d take care of things on his own. She pulls her beanie off, shaking the snow off. “At least I return to cookies.”

 

“Ah, ah, not yet.”

 

She pouts. “Why not?”

 

He quirks an eyebrow and motions at the oven. “We just put them in the oven and your mum decided to go take a warm bath, leaving me to take them out after the right amount of time.” Killian’s eyes dart to her pouting lip before he returns his gaze back to her eyes. “So, you’ll have to wait for another while.”

 

“What a shame,” she sighs. “What did you make?”

 

“Sugar cookies. Your mum was craving them,  _and_ she said she wanted to decorate them with icing which I believe you’re now going to partake in. Once she’s back from her bath, of course.”

 

“Did you cut them out in Christmas-related shapes, too?”

 

“Aye, we did. Christmas trees, little ornaments, gingerbread men, snowflakes.”

 

“You went all out, didn’t you?”

 

He scoffs. “You think I asked for it? Your mother was stubborn — much like you — about needing a variety.” Killian goes to wash the cloth he’d been using to wipe the counters before turning his head to look at her. “There’s at least two large trays, so we’ll have plenty to decorate.”

 

“One, I’m not  _that_ stubborn —”

 

“You’re being stubborn by denying it.”

 

She frowns adorably and he drapes the cloth on the inside of the sink before spraying her a little with the water on his hands.

 

Emma groans, flinching and wiping her face. “I’m starting to regret my decision of having you here.”

 

With a tilt of his head and a raise of his brow, he huffs. “Really? And yet I firmly believed you enjoyed my presence —” he steps closer to her. “— _thoroughly_.”

 

He’s a little too close, their noses almost touching and their lips only inches apart. Killian swallows, his hands twitching at his sides to reach out, but he manages to refrain himself from doing so. One corner of his lips curls up into a small smile before he pulls away, willing himself to relax. He’s not here to woo her, he’s here to be thankful and to spend time with her and her parents for the holidays.

 

Killian then cleans his throat, scratches behind his ear, exhales a quiet, deep breath, and smiles. “Now, I reckon you probably want to change into something comfier for the day and then wait on these cookies, yes?”

 

She just nods slowly and he watches her turn, going up the stairs.

 

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d really been holding, bracing his hands against the counter. “Bloody hell,” he mutters to himself. “Bloody  _hell_.”

 

&&.

 

Checking on the cookies, he notices that they’re lightly browned and ready to be taken out. He grabs the oven mitts and pulls the trays out, placing them down onto the counter to cool, closing the oven with a bump of his hip.

 

He sighs as he removes the mitts, putting them aside. Mary Margaret comes back just as he does so, smiling at him. “Oh good, they’re out!”

 

“Indeed they are,” he responds with a small nod. “I don’t suppose it’d be too much information to assume you had a nice bath?

 

Emma’s mother shakes her head. “It was too quick, but it was better than nothing. I can go back for a bath another time when I’m not on such a time constraint with these cookies.”

 

“Right, well. Emma’s returned and she can decorate the cookies along with us.”

 

“Yes, I saw her!” Mary Margaret nods as she grabs the icing bags. “She was going to go use the washroom.”

 

He nods. “Well, let’s give these a few moments to cool. Don’t want the icing to melt, right?”

 

“You’re correct about that.” Mary Margaret smiles at him and he smiles back. “Let’s sit down and wait. I’m sure we can all talk about some old memories while we’re at it. Get nostalgic.”

 

He doesn’t quite want to think of any memories, he wants to make  _new_  ones right now. But, for the sake of it, he forces a smile onto his face and nods.

 

&&

 

During their wait on the cookies to cool down, he leans back on the couch, resting his arm on the back of said couch while he chuckles at what Mary Margaret has to say about all the things he’s missed since leaving for the Navy.

 

Some parts of him feel guilty for leaving everything and everyone behind, but he doesn’t know if he feels any sense of regret.

 

“Gossiping without me?”

 

He raises his gaze to meet with Emma who changed into a white knit sweater and sweatpants. “Hardly gossiping, darling.”

 

She rolls her eyes and shuffles her way to sit down next to him, but she keeps her distance. He supposes he can’t blame her after what he pulled early at the entryway to the kitchen. Though, he must be alright though given she’s not sitting opposite of him.

 

“Are the cookies ready yet?”

 

“No, don’t think so,” Mary Margaret states with a shake of her head. “Give it a few more minutes to cool and harden.”

 

“The waiting game is boring, you know,” Emma complains.

 

“Patience is a virtue,” he sings, winking at Emma.

 

She scrunches her nose up just a little and turns to look at her mother who merely smiles and shrugs.

 

Mary Margaret seems to oddly be on his side.

 

“Anyway, remember that time you tried to climb over a fence and you broke your leg instead?” Emma says, changing the subject entirely.

 

He grunts. “That was an accident and you know it.”

 

“You were moody for weeks.”

 

“Aye, but your lovely company made it better.” The words are out of his mouth before he can take them back and he purses his lips, hoping she isn’t going to analyze what he meant behind that. “Save for the fact your father thought I was stealing you away and all that.”

 

“Ha ha, very funny of you, Jones.”

 

“It was true and  _you know it_.”

 

“Now, now,” Mary Margaret chuckles. “We’re all adults here.”

 

“Killian isn’t an adult.”

 

“That’s hardly accurate when I’m in the Navy, isn’t it?”

 

Emma groans and stands. “You know, I’ll just go check on the cookies while you converse and charm my mom.”

 

He laughs. “I do seem to have that effect on people.”

 

He thinks he hears an agreement from her, but he’s not entirely certain and he’s tempted to ask, but he knows asking her will only push her more toward the edge.

 

&&.

 

Spending time on the cookies to make them all look nice takes quite a bit of effort. Icing is much harder to handle than he initially thought, but at the least he’s finished the batch he said he’d do. Emma still has two more, and Mary Margaret had started to lay them all out nicely on the tray.

 

It’s definitely nice to spend time with Emma and Mary Margaret. It’s better than staying in a bed and breakfast bed, staring at the wall opposite to him and reminiscing about the days he once spent with his brother.

 

One thing is for sure: he feels a lot less lonely. Killian feels like he’s apart of the family, and Emma had been right. Maybe it is time to move on from Liam...maybe it’s time to make his brother proud by being happy for himself instead of brooding alone in a room with some rum.

 

The one issue that has arisen in the past three days, however, is him realizing how much he’s fallen for his best friend.

 

That is one secret he has to keep. They say falling in love with your best friend is easy, but he sees nothing easy about it. Emma may be more open now, happier and all that now that she has warmed up to her parents and this town, but she certainly doesn’t feel the same for him. Killian’s just some lovestruck puppy and he knows that the feeling will pass.

 

“Here.”

 

He snaps out of his thoughts, blinking a few times in confusion and then looking at Emma. “Pardon?”

 

Emma smiles. “Made this one for you.”

 

He looks down and it’s just one of the cookies with his initials labelled on it in blue icing. Killian breathes out a light huff of laughter, taking the cookie. “Thank you, love.”

 

When he glances back up to her, there’s this look in her eyes. He searches her face, trying to decipher what exactly must be going on in that head of hers, but he can’t make it out. Emma is usually an open book to him, but at this very moment, he questions everything about her since he can’t find the answers he’s looking for.

 

“Now I feel a tad guilty I didn’t make one particularly for you,” he murmurs. “But, I suppose you can take my best designed one? The tree is pretty impressive, if I say so myself.”

 

When she smiles that bright, lovely smile, he’s reminded once again that he loves that smile.

 

&&.

 

Dinner is the usual deal as it is. They gather around the table and eat their meals, occasionally talking in between. David’s begun to warm up to him, but it doesn’t mean he’s as nice as he is to Emma with him. It hardly matters to Killian, but a part of him thinks that he wants that. He wants to impress her father, to get his approval.

 

Except, it’s not like he’s dating Emma, so he technically doesn’t  _need_  approval.

 

(But he wants it. For some selfish bloody reason, he wants it.)

 

It’s just that her father hasn’t always been the happiest of them all when it came to him in the first place. He always thought he was dragging his daughter away from important things. Like school and work. But in all the years he’s known Emma, he’s never intentionally wanted to harm her academics or her work ethic. In fact, he’s always had her best intentions in mind when he spent time with her; him being here is more for her than him, but he’s beginning to wonder if that  _actually_  the truth.

 

The memory of receiving news of Liam’s death still weighs heavily on his mind and heart. He may act happy, may be joyful, and though for a portion he is, he’s still grieving.

 

He wishes that Liam could have been here to experience Christmas with the Nolan's. With Emma.

 

After dinner, he helps Mary Margaret clean up, doing the dishes and the rest of those mundane tasks. Then they gather in the living room to watch a Christmas movie. They decide on  _Elf_. He hasn’t seen this movie in years, but sitting here in a lowly-lit living room, watching a comedic holiday film is much more than he could have asked for. Everything about the  _right now_  is more than what he could have asked for. Killian doesn’t deserve it, but he’s a greedy man, so he basks in the moment.

 

&&.

 

Sometime during the movie he’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he was seconds away from dozing off completely.

 

He wakes to darkness, the television screen no longer showing the movie, and he feels a blanket on top of him. He squints his eyes to get a look at the clock, taking note that he’d slept a few short hours away. Killian sighs, shifting a little and realizing that Emma had fallen asleep next to him. The loveseats are empty and he puts it all together that they must have both passed out and her parents must have taken care of giving them blankets.

 

Stretching his legs which have definitely gone to sleep, he drops his head onto the back of the couch, looking over at the sleeping Emma. She’s so peaceful...absolutely beautiful in her sleep, even though she’s always beautiful.

 

 _God, no_ , he thinks to himself, shaking out of those thoughts.

 

Killian slowly eases himself off the couch, taking the blanket he has and puts it on top of Emma.

 

All the lights in the house are already off except the Christmas lights hung up on the tree. He bites his lower lip for a brief moment before turning around to go upstairs to his temporary room, grabbing one of the pillows and then returning downstairs.

 

Emma has shifted a tad bit, but it hardly matters. He ever so slightly manages to move her head and put the pillow under her head, pulling the blankets over her. Killian takes a step back and smiles a little at the sight, lingering for longer than he should. He crouches down a bit, kisses her forehead gently, and promptly whispers, “Sweet dreams, Emma.”

 

(He’s falling, he thinks, but he ponders about whether he’s still falling, or if he’s already fallen and he’s just been stalling for all these years instead.)

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINISHED IT!! SORRY IT TOOK LIKE 3 WEEKS BUT my terrible cold has lasted for like over 2 weeks now, so that’s a thing. also excuse any mistakes because i’m literally so tired that i don’t even know what mistakes i’ve made are not possible at this point

Unfortunately Sheriff and Deputy duties cannot be ignored over the holidays.

 

Their hours are cut short, but that’s as much as Killian knows. However, he’s grateful enough that he gets an extra while with Emma, even if it isn’t for very long. He simply cannot sustain proper company with Mary Margaret all day, or deal with himself alone. Brooding alone is his worst enemy of all time, he thinks.

 

Christmas draws closer each day. It’s Thursday and Christmas is on Sunday. At least it’s Thursday night.

 

Yet the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it to last, and he’s not entirely sure why. Perhaps it’s the budding reality of his desire to have Emma more than a friend. The want to stay here, with her, instead of going back to the Navy and being shipped off to God knows where. Killian rubs at his eyes and sighs heavily, sinking deeper into the back of the couch as he stares at the clock. It’s late at night, he should be in bed, yet he’s sitting here on his own.

 

When sleep eludes him, he has very little he can do to convince his mind and body otherwise. Luckily for him, he’s got a mug of tea — credit to Mary Margaret’s allowance. The warmth brings the heat back into his cold hands.

 

“What’re you doing up so late?”

 

He hears the groggy voice and turns his head, seeing Emma rubbing at her eyes, snug in sweatpants and a loose top.

 

“Couldn’t sleep, love,” he murmurs. “And you?”

 

“Had to use the washroom and noticed your door wasn’t closed and the light was on. Figured I could check on you, but you weren’t there.”

 

For a moment, he berates himself and sighs, having been forgetful this one time. “No need to worry for me,” he reassures her, “go back to bed.”

 

“You’re not much of a liar, you know.” She sits down next to him, feeling the couch dip more. “Are you upset...or something?”

 

He perks up and shakes his head. “No, of course not,” he answers.

 

“No second regrets?”

 

He nods. “No second regrets.”

 

“Then what’s keeping you up tonight?”

 

Killian licks his lip and stares at the clock, watching the handle tick every second away. “I’m not quite sure.” He exhales and brings the mug up to his lips to drink. He’s not exactly lying, but he is at an impasse about his feelings. And the current moment doesn’t make it much better.

 

“Want to talk about it? I know I’m not a good speaker, let alone with feelings, but…” She shrugs, leaning her shoulder against his. “I can listen.”

 

He chuckles quietly, his thumb rubbing the handle of the mug idly as he wagers his options. Either he speaks to her or he blows her off entirely instead. Neither are quite appealing. To confess his feelings? He doesn’t even know if Emma likes him remotely the way he likes her. She’s avoided contact like during the snowball fight and then when they were talking by the kitchen entrance. She’s giving too many mixed signals and he’s just...he’s a confused man, that’s what he is.

 

With her sitting closely next to him, willing to listen to his problems late at night — or early in the morning at 2AM — is just another tick to add into the “possibly interested” category.

 

“I don’t know, Swan, I really don’t,” he breathes, closing his eyes briefly. “There’s just a lot of conflicting feelings at the moment.”

 

“Liam?”

 

 _Liam_. Killian swallows and nods his head. “Yeah,” he lies, just a little, “Liam.” He hasn’t thought much of Liam today — tonight — and he feels guilty about it, but... _Emma_.

 

He has to admit, he’s got his thoughts all over the place.

 

Liam, Emma, Christmas, and every other little thing that comes in between.

 

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, settling her hand on his thigh. “I know it’s hard for you.”

 

Infinitely harder now that her hand is on _him_. They’ve done physical contact plenty of times. They’ve known each other for essentially a decade now, but it still makes a shiver run down his spine, despite the warmth between his hands.

 

“I think I’m beginning to like the holidays a bit more, though,” he admits quietly.

 

“Really? That’s great.”

 

“Yeah, it is.” He smiles over at her, bottling up his emotions of hopeless romance. “Thank you, Emma.”

 

“For what?”

 

“Everything.”

 

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “You’re my best friend, Killian, it’d be bad form of me to not help.”

 

While he smiles just a little wider, his grip tightens on the mug. “I’m rubbing off on you.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” she huffs.

 

Love...so this is what love feels like. It’s not something he can explain with any words, but it’s certainly an overwhelming emotion, the way his heart beats faster every time she’s near, or perhaps the way he swears his heart _swells_ when he sees her laugh and smile. Killian’s always been a bit of a hopeless romantic, but he’s never really had the chance to explore much of it. He dated a few times in high school, but nothing ever really became of it.

 

Yet here he is now, entranced and wrapped around Emma like no other. He’s well aware he’s walking on a thin line between best friends and an awkward ruined relationship. It’s just a matter of which buttons he presses next.

 

&&.

 

More activities come and go during the next few days, but by the time he’s even aware of it, it’s already Christmas Eve. Emma and David finally have their two days of duty off, figuring that Storybrooke could manage without much law enforcement for the day. It’s a small town, there’s not much trouble. Ever.

 

He hates to admit it, but Emma’s gift has been sitting under the bed, perfectly packaged and ready to be given. It’s a bit of a stretch that she’ll _love_ it, but it’s something he’s proud of. It took a lot of time to compile together, and frankly, he’s more than ready to give it to her.

 

Killian has a knack of being observant and perceptive, and for these last few days, he’s noticed the things that Mary Margaret has been trying to be subtle about. He can give it to her, but her declining all sorts of alcohol and going to bed early and complaining about sore backs and whatnot are giving her away. They may not be constant complaints, but they were enough for him to draw a conclusion of her being pregnant.

 

Oh, and the quick bath she took while the cookies were in the oven.

 

Clearly Emma doesn’t know.

 

“Mary Margaret, I’ve a question to ask you.”

 

They have a moment of quiet and he’s best to confirm his assumption.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Are you…” He waves at her stomach a little. “You know?”

 

Mary Margaret blinks at him. “You _know_?”

 

He chuckles, leaning against the counter with his hip, ankles crossed over each other. “Aye, I figured so.”

 

“It hasn’t been that obvious, has it?”

 

“No, I don’t believe so,” he states with a shake of his head. “I’m just rather observant, sometimes _too_ observant for my own good.” He smiles. “But, really? Congratulations.”

 

Mary Margaret sighs, shaking her head a little. “I haven’t told David yet. Or Emma.”

 

He hums a little, tilting his head. “I figured that, too. They both seem clueless and they’ve not picked up on all the subtleties yet.”

 

“Well, you’re the first to know, then.”

 

He smiles and leans forward, kissing her cheek. “I’m certain they’ll both be ecstatic.”

 

“I know we’re not that old...even though it looks like we are, but David and I have been trying for months.” She smiles, shrugging slightly with one shoulder. “I  know he’ll be happy, but Emma? I’m not even sure about that. We gave her up because we were too young — not in a position to raise a child — too concerned that we wouldn’t be her best chance. We missed everything with her —”

 

“What’re you guys talking about?”

 

 _Of course_ Emma would walk in right while they’re talking about all this. He glances at Mary Margaret with an apologetic small smile and turns back. “Just about tonight’s dinner.”

 

“ _You’re_ cooking?”

 

He winces dramatically. “You wound a man’s ego.”

 

When Emma rolls her eyes and walks off, he glances at Mary Margaret and winks. “Secret is safe with me, milady. We can discuss another time.”

 

&&.

 

Dinner is a slow affair. Every one of them say something, contributing to the trivial conversations. He occasionally glances over at Mary Margaret to note that the lady is doing fine on her own. However, he’s loathe to admit his eyes linger on Emma’s face more than necessary. He’s a fool in love and despite knowing that fact — deny it as much as he’d like — he knows that it’ll come out at some point. He can’t keep hiding how he feels. The longer dinner drags on for, the longer he has to sit in his thoughts, surrounded by the idle chatter of his only _family_.

 

It had been no surprise how hard losing Liam had damaged him. Emma had been there for him, but at the time, it hadn’t been enough. He needed to do some searching of his own, even if it was for years.

 

He is, however, now certain that he’s found what he’s been longing for. He’s found his family, a group of people that have vowed to be by him.

 

(And no, no mater how many looks David may give him, he knows that he’s not hated.)

 

It’s been a bit since he last parted his lips to speak. He’s been eating his food like it’s just habit, but he’s drifted out of the conversation. All of their eyes sit on him as he snaps out of his deep train of thought.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

He looks at Mary Margaret and manages to nod. “Uh...aye. Just a tad tired is all. Excuse me for zoning out.”

 

Technically it’s the truth. But it’s also a lie.

 

“Did cooking with my wife exhaust you? I know it does with me —”

 

Mary Margaret glares at him.

 

Killian merely scoffs at the suggestion and shakes his head. “Sorry to disappoint, mate, but no. Cooking with your lady has been an honour.”

 

“You love complimenting my mom,” Emma comments.

 

“Just being respectful, love.”

 

“Mhm.”

 

He rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I offer to wash the dishes.”

 

“Nonsense, Killian. You just said it yourself — you’re tired.” Mary Margaret smiles. “David and I can handle it.”

 

Sighing, he nods in defeat. “Well, at least allow me to bring the dishes to the sink.”

 

He just needs some space from Emma to gather his thoughts. Killian knows that he can’t keep this up forever. He’s going to break like a dam at some point. Nothing endures for forever.

 

Quickly, he attempts to act as natural as possible, gathering all the dishes and glasses and taking it to the sink without dropping anything. Naturally, he doesn’t get to avoid her for very long. One second he’s in the kitchen, the next he’s back in the familiar living room space, getting a fire started, according to David’s request. He took up the job willingly, at least just for a few more moments with distance between he and Emma.

 

Emma sits behind him on the couch, snug in the corner with a quilt covering her legs. As he turns around to look at her, he can only imagine the sight as if they lived together without her parents, spending time together in front of a dazzling, warm fire after an exhausting day of work on a cold winter day.

 

As the fire begins to crackle, he goes to sit down next to her, but keeping that safe distance between them. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything.

 

The water running from the faucet in the kitchen provides constant background noise along with the fire.

 

“So, tomorrow is Christmas.”

 

He hums softly, nodding in acknowledgement. “Aye, it is.” He manages to smile. “You lot don’t wake up at the crack of dawn to open presents, do you?”

 

Emma laughs warmly. “No, but we’ll all be getting drunk at some point.”

 

That, he dreads. He tends to spill his thoughts out when he’s drunk. “Ah, well, is that a tradition I’ve missed out on?”

 

“Yes,” she answers, “it is. And you can’t get out of it.”

 

“You know the lights bloody well blind me —”

 

“Yes, you used that excuse before, but it’s a great time to let loose.”

 

He sighs, knowing Emma won’t take no for an answer. “Fine,” he concedes dejectedly, “however, I won’t get _that_ knackered.”

 

She shakes her head, poking her foot at his thigh from under the quilt. “Good luck with that. Dad won’t allow you to be a party pooper.”

 

He pouts at her like a young child, a thing he’s done plenty before just to play around. “Your father has ought to let me make my own decisions. I’m a man, not a child.”

 

(He’s pouting like a _child_.)

 

“Oh no, he’ll have you make the decision yourself before the party even starts. Then you have no one to blame but yourself when you blind yourself from Christmas lights on the tree.”

 

“You know I can hear you both!” David says loudly from the kitchen.

 

They both break out into a fit of laughter, which leads to them shifting closer to each other on the couch.

 

“Sorry not sorry, Dad!”

 

Seeing the relationship between them, he only wishes he had the chance to experience it. His father is long gone, now. Buried six feet under, probably.

 

Yet, even if he doesn’t have his bloody family, he knows he has Emma’s.

 

Emma.

 

&&.

 

When he wakes early in the morning, he’s not sure if he’s ready to face the day. While the days leading up to Christmas have been entirely bearable, albeit off to a slow start initially, he’s been somewhat dreading the actual day of Christmas.

 

Liam died today. This day. It’s another anniversary of that.

 

The wave of emotions hit him heavily, the sorrow he feels. He knows he can’t possibly miss out on today, though. All of these days led to today, Emma invited him for this purpose of including him, so he has to participate. There’s not much going on besides presents and going out to Granny’s later, so that gives him plenty of time to be stuck in his own dark thoughts...assuming Emma allows him to.

 

He reaches out for his phone, unlocking it and going to check his camera roll. It’s mostly photos, older photos, of the both of them. He and Emma doing dumb things. He has occasional photos of something else, but most of it is dominated by the lass who’s managed to steal his heart. She’s stolen his heart and she doesn’t even know that.

 

Killian swallows, letting himself a moment to bask in the memories these photos bring back. He really shouldn’t even have these pictures, but he still does. He likes to say he’s not sentimental, but he is. He can’t let these memories go. And they won’t be gone, they certainly won’t.

 

He inhales and exhales, once, twice, three times, before he manages to drag himself out of bed, letting himself take his time. The house is still entirely quiet from what he can tell. There are no footsteps pattering across the floor or the stairs, no sound of the coffee machine on in the kitchen. There are no voices carrying through the hallways and no doors and floors creaking. Killian relishes the moments of serenity he gets.

 

He figures he’ll take a shower first before everybody else so he can get a start to his day.

 

For those few precious minutes in the shower, he lets the hot spray of water pound against his skin, easing the tension and the worries he has for the day. It’s the first time he’s spent Christmas with them...without being so wrapped around the memory of Liam’s death.

 

After his shower, he dries himself off for the most part, wrapping the towel around his waist and going to go back to his room to change.

 

Except, the stars have aligned differently for him. He bumps straight into Emma, panic taking over him for a brief second. His damp hair still clings to his forehead and he’s basically completely _bare_ in front of her, save for the towel saving his dignity. She’s never seen him naked and he wouldn’t like for this to be the way to expose himself.

 

“Oh, bloody hell,” he mutters under his breath.

 

“Jesus,” Emma breathes out, “sorry. I...should’ve seen where I was going.”

 

“Nonsense,” he immediately retorts. “I should apologize…”

 

“No...Killian…”

 

He bites his lower lip, feeling like the heat is rushing up to his cheeks and ears. “I...ah...I’ll be going to my room to change —”

 

He doesn’t have the time to hear her response before he shuffles to his room in a frenzy, closing the door behind him and heaving a deep breath.

 

A long day sits ahead of him, he knows.

 

&&.

 

Awkward air lingers between the both of them. He can’t get the sight of Emma staring at him wide-eyed out of his head. He’d felt the shiver as he left the washroom, but immediately felt the warmth return to his body when he realized he’d run into her. Had it been David, it would have been something entirely different.

 

But, Emma. Emma is the love of his life, something she doesn’t know, and now she’s seen him essentially naked.

 

A long day, indeed.

 

&&.

 

After breakfast is presents. The air is still tense, more than he’d like to admit, but he can’t help it. Killian didn’t _mean_ to run into her after his shower. He didn’t realize someone — Emma — had been awake.

 

Presents are a fun experience for the most part, but when Emma picks one up that’s for her, he realizes that’s the one he got for her. Well, _made_ for her, actually. And he’s anxious...nervous and wondering how she’ll respond.

 

Killian watches her intently, the way she rips the wrapping paper apart and then taking the lid off a box. She pulls out the book, an _album_ actually, of many of the photos he’s collected over the years. They may not be the greatest given the distance he’s had between her in the Navy, but he did it anyway.

 

“Killian?”

 

He looks up to her face. “Aye?”

 

“Did you...print all these out? These are so old…”

 

Chuckling a bit nervously, he nods. “Yes, I did,” he tells her. “A way for you to remember me. Us...when I’m away.”

 

He says this as if he’ll be gone by the end of the week. And maybe he will be. He’s not sure yet.

 

Perhaps further distance will settle his heart’s desire. Or make it fonder. What’s that saying? Distance makes the heart grow fonder.

 

“Is this from when we were graduating?” She laughs a little, flipping through the pages. “Wow.”

 

Killian smiles, scratching behind his ear. “I still had all these photos, so might as well have put it into an album.” He licks his lips briefly. “I reckon you like it?”

 

“Yeah, I do.” She sets the album down and he stands up before she’s hugging him.

 

He’s surprised, but he smiles and presses his chin to the side of her head, sliding his arms around her waist and keeping her close. The warmth of her pressed up against him, the smell of her shampoo distinct and lovely. He hasn’t hugged her like _this_ in forever.

 

Suddenly, the tension between them is gone. In the blink of an eye, really. It’s odd, but he’s not complaining.

 

And yes, they may be best friends, but Emma’s always been a tad difficult when it came to physical intimacy. But she’s different now. He’s seen her grow...sort of. He feels God awful for having missed out on years of her life from not being at her side. Except he doesn’t regret himself leaving, because maybe it wouldn’t have led to this very moment between them.

 

With a thick gulp, he lets himself bask in the moment between them, disregarding the presence of her parents. Sod her bloody parents.

 

“Thank you,” she breathes out against his neck.

 

The warmth of her breath dampens his skin, but that doesn’t matter to him. Everything about _this_ is exactly what he’s been pining for, even if he hadn’t known at first. “You’re welcome, darling,” he murmurs softly, his thumb stroking her back idly.

 

This is so much more than what he could have asked for.

 

“I got you something that isn’t as _remotely_ sentimental as this.”

 

He laughs, pulling away a decent distance to look down at her. “It’s alright. I wasn’t expecting some extravagant gift.”

 

She pulls away completely from him, and he’d be lying if he said he’s disappointed, but he watches her stalk over to the tree, bending down and picking up another present in a bag.

 

“Avoided wrapping my present, did you?”

 

“ _Look_ , I’m just terrible at wrapping presents. Take it or leave it.”

 

Smiling widely at her, he ignores the look that passes between her parents as he pulls out the tissue paper, finding a book. He sticks his hand into the bag and takes it out, looking down at it and realizing it’s a notebook. Of course, he ponders the purpose of Emma giving him a notebook like this —

 

“I thought you could use it to write down things you can’t quite...articulate?” she says with a small shrug.

 

He blinks a few times, biting down on his lower lip just a tad bit. “You’re one hell of a lass,” he states. “Thank you, love. I love it. And the ship on the cover.”

 

“Sailor and all that,” she mutters. “Figured it’d only fit.”

 

“It’s great, I appreciate the gift.”

 

He sets it down on the couch and goes to hug her again, kissing her temple on impulse.

 

Both of them linger, so it can’t be said that it’s only his fault.

 

Except he hears David clear his throat and they both step away from each other.

 

He clenches his jaw and glances over at Emma who has a bit of blush over her cheeks, an adorable shade of red that highlights her facial structure beautifully.

 

In deep, he is.

 

&&.

 

The rest of the day is a simple thing — they don’t really do much. The presents have all been opened. He had managed to purchase a nice watch for David and a cookbook for Mary Margaret, things that they both actually liked, which he was glad for.

 

He now owns a lovely notebook courtesy of Emma, which he will be using plenty. Especially to write his ever-blooming feelings for this woman. And then he got a new leather jacket — real leather, according to the couple — which adds onto his leather jacket collection. Not that he has _that_ many leather jackets, but he does have a thing for a good leather jacket.

 

It’s a new experience, really, to be sharing gifts and being thankful for having each other. Killian thoroughly enjoys every second and knows he’ll be keeping them close to his heart. He hasn’t thought too much about Liam throughout the gift exchange, and hopefully, maybe, it won’t change throughout the remainder of the day.

 

They go out to Granny’s to celebrate for quite some time, everybody gathered in the diner, alcohol all over the place, Granny’s best pie.

 

He didn’t think this would happen, but eventually the looming expanse of people hanging around and the eyes he feels on him makes him uncomfortable. While he’s never been against the attention, a shiver runs down his spine that makes his entire body want to crumble. It’s not anxiety or pressure, but of course, having grown up in this small town and then disappearing to the Navy and only returning to town once in awhile draws a large target on the back of his head.

 

He excuses himself, feeling bad to leave Emma and her parents, but he needs some fresh air. Killian inhales a deep breath of the cold air, letting the breath crystalize when he lets the breath out. He rubs his hands together before sticking them into his pockets, staring down Main Street and the way the streetlights illuminate the darkness. The cold begins to make his cheeks freeze up before they start to feel like they’re being stung, but he hears the sound of the door close, turning around and noting that it’s Emma.

 

“Hey, you’ve been out here for a while.”

 

Of course he doesn’t want to talk to her about how he feels, but it’s the inevitable. “My apologies. I just needed the air away from such a crowded diner, is all.”

 

“You sure?”

 

He nods with a tight smile, hating the way his smile feels so fake.

 

“Don’t do that.”

 

Raising an eyebrow, he tilts his head just a little bit and looks at her in faux confusion. “What?”

 

“Smile like that,” she begins, “the fake one, or whatever. You know if you want to go home, you can tell me, right? I’ll just say goodbye and we can head back. My parents can take care of everything.”

 

“Emma, we really don’t —”

 

“You’re not comfortable in there, I get it. After Liam...and all the years you missed.” She sighs, turning around. “Give me a minute.”

 

She disappears back inside the diner before he can tell her no and he huffs, taking a hand out of his pocket and rubbing his forehead. The woman is stubborn like an ox, heartstrong like a lion. Killian supposes it’s only one of the many things he loves about her.

 

 _Loves_. Such a foreign concept, he thinks. However, if it’s the way he want to make her smile and laugh, the way every bit of her happiness makes him flutter inside, the way he reddens whenever he _thinks_ about exposing himself so empty and raw to her, then he knows it’s not foreign. It’s just been something waiting to come out from below the depths of whatever abyss he’s been sleeping in. It’s like he’s been a bear on hibernation.

 

Killian slips out of his thoughts when he hears the jingle again, looking up to see Emma, all bundled up.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

“I really didn’t want to take you away from such jolly celebrations.”

 

She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s fine. We do this every year.”

 

“We didn’t get plastered,” he notes with a quirked brow, walking next to her with a steady pace. “You said I’d have no choice in the matter.”

 

Emma bumps her shoulder against his. “We can always get a drink another time, like old times.”

 

“You mean like when we stole the beer out of the fridge that belonged to your father? You know he never quite approved —”

 

“I know he didn’t, but it didn’t stop us, did it?” She looks up at him. “Besides, it wasn’t like we actually got drunk and did anything stupid. We just chilled and took some sips after rough days on the porch.”

 

She does make a fair point there, but he never really quite enjoyed the fact they had been rebellious on that part. They weren’t legal drinking age back then when they first got involved with alcohol, but they had been relatively responsible with such things. When her father first found out, he’d been livid, and he’d taken the blame because he didn’t want Emma to lose the relationship she’d been building with her parents.

 

They were young and dumb, like most teenagers.

 

Snow begins to fall and he looks up at the inky, night sky, the stars bright. The stars are always bright in Storybrooke, one of the few features he loves about this quaint town. It’s by the seaside and has a lovely view of the stars...but it also has Emma.

 

He hadn’t realized how dark it had been until now. The day has passed by rather quickly, more than he’d like to admit, because this means he’s going to have to make his decision about his future. To stay in the Navy or leave. He’s not sure which.

 

“You’re deep in thought again, Jones.”

 

Coughing a little, he clear his throat. “Aye, apologies. I’ve a lot on my mind tonight.”

 

“I don’t blame you.” She smiles that smile smile, the one where the corners of her lips curl in the faintest way. “You leave tomorrow?”

 

He inhales a sharp breath. “Yes.”

 

“You know I’m never ready to say goodbye.”

 

“Then we don’t.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Killian merely shrugs. “We don’t say goodbye. Goodbye sounds like forever, Emma, and I don’t like the sound of that.”

 

&&.

 

Their stroll in the cold back to the house takes a bit of time as they’d made a pit stop by the docks, staring out at the sea and getting lost in the sound of the washes crashing against each other in that subtle manner, the way he could still smell the salt water despite how cold it was.

 

He nearly breathes out a sigh of relief at the warmth that hits him as he steps inside of the house. They both take their boots off and shift them aside, shedding their thick jackets to haphazardly throw onto the arm of the couch.

 

They don’t talk very much, but there’s a sense of understanding and intimacy between them. Wordlessly, he goes to get a fire started, something they’d both likely enjoy given the cold that lingers on their skin and in their bones. He hears the clinking in the kitchen, believing that she must be making them her favourite drink — hot chocolate with cinnamon on top.

 

As the flames begin to burn and rise, he sits back and lets it do it it’s own thing. He sighs softly, glad for the warmth the fire emits. By the time the fire is fully burning, Emma’s sitting down on the carpeted floor, two mugs of hot chocolate in her hands. When she offers it to him, Killian murmurs his thanks and sits down next to her, carefully maintaining balance so he doesn’t spill the concoction she’d prepared.

 

Being left alone with his thoughts here and there throughout the week has left him in a state of confusion. More often than not he questions about his position here, but he knows one thing and that’s the only light that’s been guiding him.

 

She’s his summer paradise. His winter wonderland.

 

 _Emma_ is the one.

 

“I don’t want you to leave.”

 

He’s surprised at first by her statement, his eyes darting to her face, taking note of the auburn colours glowing against her soft skin.

 

“This week...has been something, Killian.” She bites her lip and then sighs, sounding lost and dejected, as she then takes a sip of her drink tentatively. “I don’t know how to word it.”

 

“Likewise, darling.” He nods slightly, turning his eyes back toward the fire, watching the wood burn and the sparks fly a little. “You don’t know how much it has meant to me to experience this...with you and your parents. I’m more than thankful and can’t find any further words to express how blessed I am to have you — all of you — in my life.”

 

Perhaps now isn’t the best time to confess how he feels. He’s likely about to disappear for another year and he’s going to leave her hanging.

 

“It’s...somehow been closure for me. To get over the death of Liam and my dislike for Christmas.”

 

“I’m happy to hear that.” She rests her head on his shoulder and he lets her do so happily. “I really am. I just want you to be happy, Killian. You know? Seeing you wallowing in bad memories sucks. I would know.”

 

He chuckles softly, pressing his lips into her hair. “I know. I see that now, and though I’m not completely over Liam’s death, I believe I’m well on my way down a road I can consider recovery.”

 

&&.

 

Both mugs of hot chocolate have long been finished, sitting aside on the coffee table behind them. He leans back a little, tugging the quilt around Emma’s shoulders, keeping her warm. Frankly, he just wants to keep himself close to her for as long as he can.

 

“Do you have to go?”

 

He chuckles. “I’m afraid so, darling.” He rubs her shoulder with his thumb idly. “I promise I’ll be back.”

 

“Promise, huh?”

 

“You know I never like to break promises.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Humming a little, he closes his eyes. “I’ll be back before you know it. And besides —” he opens his eyes and reaches back to grab the photo album, plopping it in front of them, “— you have this book of all of our memories.”

 

He thinks he hears her say, “It’s not enough.”

 

&&.

 

He must have dozed off at some point because the fire has dwindled since at this point and he hears the gentle footsteps around the house. He inhales a deep breath, his fingers curling around the body he has his warm wrapped around.

 

They’re both on the floor, the quilt draped over the both of them, Emma’s body curled up against his chest. The photo album is under the coffee table.

 

He watches her for a few moments, the longing in his eyes surely evident. Killian is a selfish man and he’ll take whatever time he has left with her.

 

&&.

 

Christmas has come and now it goes. He’d gotten up at night, despite not wanting to leave the warmth of her body pressed against his, the way she fits so perfectly against him. He’d carried her up to bed and in fact, stayed in her bed. Emma had woken briefly, asking him to stay. He couldn’t have said no in the first place.

 

The day after, now, and he needs to go. Everything is packed up and he simply doesn’t want to drag this suitcase of stuff out to be shipped out to sea again. He loves the sea, but his purpose in the Navy now lacks compared to his purpose here.

 

He’s always been able to read Emma like an open book, and she seems to be able to do the same considering they’ve known each other for so many years, but at this moment, all he sees is disappointment. And God, he hates seeing that look.

 

Right now, he’s tempted to say goodbye to safe and sound, to tell her the truth.

 

There’s that sort of sorrow in her eyes that makes him want to drown.

 

But he has no choice in the matter right now. He needs to go back to the Navy or else the government will be on his arse, and though it’s likely they’ll never care if he deserts, he simply can’t. He has some dignity and honour remaining and he needs to do what he can to retain it. Killian will come back for Emma, though. He knows he will.

 

“It’s not a goodbye, remember?”

 

He strokes her cheek with his thumb, rests his forehead against hers, and lets himself remember this very moment in time. This hesitant, but loving moment between them. The hustle of the airport surrounds them, but during the moment of loud, he finds a moment of peace.

 

Killian leans in, taking his time and giving her an out, before he finally presses his lips against hers. It feels like forever but it doesn’t feel like enough.

 

There’s a final call and he _needs_ to go; he doesn’t want to go. This departure is more than bittersweet. Killian rubs the tip of his nose against hers. “It’s not goodbye. I’ll be back.”

 

“See you later, Killian Jones.”

 

With a small smile, he turns and leaves.

 

More than once he casts a glance over his shoulder at her, his heart swelling with love but also breaking in half.

 

_Distance makes the heart grow fonder and stronger._

 

&&.

 

**one year later.**

 

Managing to get himself discharged from the Navy took a lot more work than he thought. Of course Emma doesn’t know, but Mary Margaret does. He’s kept in contact with her and even asked about the baby and how both have responded to it.

 

He has to admit he’s proud of Emma’s reaction. While she had been upset a little bit, jealous that her sibling would be getting a family and not being thrown around the foster system, she was not angry with her parents. Her parents missed out on raising her and this was another chance for them, something she couldn’t possibly hold a grudge against her parents for having.

 

David was elated, which was good news to go along with it. Mary Margaret had just about been fed up when David told her _not_ to eat the cookies and ice cream she had been craving at the time.

 

Now, Killian knows that they had a little lad, naming him Leo. It’s fitting, he thinks, even if he’s never met the boy. He will, though. Soon.

 

Killian has been yearning for Emma, pining after her so terribly his heart could burst. He’s talked to Emma a few times he’s had the chance, but she doesn’t know of his return. He’s had this day planned in his head for the entire year and he’s crossing his fingers that everything goes smoothly. Sighing a little, he stares out the window of David’s truck.

 

If he weren’t in the truck with David, he would have been writing down his thoughts in that notebook he got last Christmas. He’d been putting it to good use, after all.

 

“You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

 

He taps his fingers on his thigh and nods. “Aye. I left the Navy...for her. The staple of my life all these years for her. And Christmas Eve is tomorrow.”

 

David chuckles a little. “You know I always gave you a hard time, but...you’re good for her.”

 

Killian manages a grin as he looks over at her father. “You’re warming up to me, I know it. It’s only taken you basically a decade to reach this point.”

 

“Don’t push it, Jones,” David mutters. “You hurt _one_ hair on her body —”

 

“And you’ll send me to my deathbed, yes, yes, I get the point.” Killian rolled his eyes, leaning his head against the headrest of the seat. “I would never dare to hurt her.”

 

“Good,” David sighs. “She’s missed you a lot. I swear I find her flipping through that album everyday after work.”

 

After another ten minutes of silence, David poses a question he as a perfect answer for.

 

“Do you love her?”

 

Killian nods slowly, closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “That I do. I’d go to the end of the world for her...or time.” He smiles a bit. “Now it’s just a question of her —”

 

“She loves you, I’m sure of it. Sometimes she has these moments where she zones out and I have to try and bring her out of it. She has the look of a pining lover, if anything.”

 

While the words are somewhat reassuring to hear from David, it’s not enough to settle the doubt in his mind and heart. His stomach already heaves with the butterflies, a feeling he’s more than familiar with. These last few days have just left him with a stomach that kept twisting and turning inside out.

 

The jet-lag catches up on him, leaving him full of pent up energy he can’t waste. He knows it’ll just go away in a few hours leaving him absolutely exhausted, but he’s stuck in a truck with a half hour drive remaining to get back into town and he doesn’t know what to do. Killian picks his phone out of his pocket after debating, looking through some of the photos on his camera roll again. It settles a bit of the butterflies in his stomach, leaving his heart merely aching for her.

 

Killian can’t wait for the moment he can just _hold_ her again.

 

&&.

 

The entire ride back has made his body stiff, so being able to finally get out of the truck is a relief to his body.

 

He opens the back seat door to tug his stuff out with a small grunt. “Is she home?”

 

“No, not yet. Just like planned,” David reassures. “I’m going to the station, so you’ll have to entertain my wife and on.”

 

“She’s not that bad,” Killian reasons, “at least, over phone calls it wasn’t that bad.”

 

David scoffs. “Phone calls.”

 

By the time he’s ushered inside by Mary Margaret, he’s already grinning at the familiar decorations and the scent of cookies in the oven.

 

He greets Mary Margaret and gives her a big hug, before the cries of a baby echo through the room. He chuckles and allows the lady to go tend to her son.

 

When she brings him over, he smiles at the sight. “He’s a chubby one.”

 

“Would you like to hold him?”

 

Killian blinks at the offer. “I — uh, how —”

 

“Just like this.” Mary Margaret shows him how to hold the baby and he nods, though he’s still nervous.

 

There’s never been one time he’s held a child. He swallows and takes little Leo into his arms and after a few moments, he begins to get the hang of it better, not worrying so much about dropping a child on his head.

 

He’s in awe.

 

&&.

 

It’s when he sees the lights flash through the windows that he knows Emma must be home. He stands quickly, rubbing his hands on his jeans and then handing Leo back to Mary Margaret.

 

He’s definitely in love with Leo. He’s a bubbly little boy who’s going to grow up loved and surrounded by family.

 

Peeking behind the curtain, he notes that it’s definitely Emma and her father. “God...bloody hell, what do I even say?”

 

“Killian,” Mary Margaret sighs, “don’t you worry so much. It’ll be alright. Just be yourself.”

 

Inhaling a few deep breaths and letting it out, he clenches his hands into fists when the door creaks open and he bites his lower lip slightly, listening to Emma’s voice as she talks to her father about something to do with a thievery in the library.

 

When he first meets her eyes, he quirks his lips into a small smile before they’re colliding with each other, arms wrapped tightly each of their bodies. He has his arms snug around her waist and hers around his neck.

 

“You’re...this is a dream,” she sputters.

 

He laughs a little and shakes his head. “No, it’s not a dream,” he responds. “I promised you I’d come back.” Killian kisses her temple gently, his hand rubbing her back in small circles. “I missed you dearly, Emma.”

 

“You’re really here...how?”

 

“I got myself discharged. The details are a bore, so you’ve no need to hear the full story right now.” He smiles, bringing his hands up to her cheeks, thumbs brushing the curve. “But I’m here, and that’s what matters, aye?”

 

She grins and nods. “Is this my Christmas present?”

 

“Mm, well, wouldn’t be much of a present if I told you, would it?”

 

Emma huffs and Killian grins, feeling his heart swell ten times larger than normal. He feels so much more at home in her arms and he doesn’t even bother regretting the choice he’s made to come back to her.

 

&&.

 

Christmas Eve is a quiet event, but Christmas is well spent — quite, too. While Mary Margaret and David decide to take Leo out to go enjoy the traditional dinner and celebrations at Granny’s with several other patrons in town, Emma and Killian decide to stay inside.

 

Just like last year, they sit in front of the burning fire, enjoying each other’s company. No talking. Just the simple pleasure of each other’s presence.

 

“This, I think, is the best Christmas ever,” Emma eventually mumbles, turning her face into his shoulder.

 

“And why’s that?”

 

“Because you’re here now. That’s all I could have asked for.”

 

Killian grins widely and kisses her hair. “You showed me what it would be like to spend such a holiday without hating the bloody world,” he says. “And to you, Emma, I thank you for that.”

 

In the midst of the night, he tells her he loves her more than words could ever possibly explain and he can’t help the way his heart jumps when she tells him the same, even if she’d hesitated for a second.

  
Emma has changed his beliefs of Christmas. He’d been such a Grinch, but she brought him out of it, and he cannot thank or love her enough to show how much it means to him.


End file.
